That night, as Darcy lay in his aunt’s disagreeable guest bed, he was grateful for the discomfort, for it allowed him time to rehearse the tumultuous events of the evening. He must settle his mind and come to terms with his feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet! The candle beside him flickered, sending shadows dancing across the canopy above his head as he stretched out and stared into the darkness, his fingers laced beneath his head. Here, in the silent reaches of night, he could think clearly, see her clearly, without distraction. There had been little exchanged between them after she rose from the pianoforte save what was polite and expected, but each glance, each word that fell from her lips, each courtesy in which they engaged was etched upon his memory. He could see her still as she sat at the instrument, the flames of the candles upon it playing in the brilliancy of her eyes. He reveled in each smile, each thoughtful pull of her brow, each song she had sung. In every way she had shown herself wholly possessed of the poise, intelligence, wit, and grace he had cataloged under Georgiana’s insistent questioning. He knew Elizabeth Bennet to be compassionate and unfailingly loyal to those with the slightest claim upon her. To that, she had this night added forbearance and civility in the face of the unwarranted criticisms and insults of his aunt. And she had made him know himself.

What did he feel? Where did he ultimately stand in this agonizing tangle? The shadows flickered across the canopy, teasing him with the mystery of the effect this girl from Hertfordshire had exercised upon his life. It had been Georgiana, in her romantic innocence, who had first put it to him. Did he…love her? I hardly know had been his answer. At the time he had forestalled his sister and sought escape in abstractions upon the emotion, but now —! Now the truth was essential to his peace! Perhaps if he started from the beginning? He admired her, that was certain. He was impossibly attracted to her. Yes, every fiber in his body could testify to that. Her conversation and wit he found exciting, challenging, and intensely pleasurable. Fourthly, Darcy paused for a long moment. Fourthly? Laughter echoed in the silence of the bedchamber as he suddenly saw himself for the ridiculous man he was. What was he doing — acting the part of a miserly accountant, adding up the assets of his lady on one side of the ledger! Admit it, man. He watched the shadows dance to the flicker of his candle, giving himself just a little more time before committing himself to what would change his life forever. “You love her.” He whispered the words quietly to himself so he could hear them from his own lips. “You love her.” He spoke them again.

It was done. His life was never to be the same. How many months had he tormented himself, denying his feelings even as he imagined her at his side? What had he not done to cure himself of her, even going so far as to spend a horrifying visit at Sayre’s in a dangerous search for a woman who could banish her from his mind and soul? The quest had been a farce from the beginning, for even as he had vowed to forget her in the arms of another woman, he had been unable to consign her silken threads to the flames or even leave them behind. Oh yes, he had finally found the strength to release those threads to the winds, but what had it profited him? Immediately, the substance had slipped into their place, and he was entangled more firmly than before. He loved her and all the lovely things she was! And he wanted her. The sharpness of his desire for her soft comfort, her warm welcome, caused the breath to catch in his chest. Her presence at Hunsford and Rosings had given him a taste of the excitement that being daily near her would afford. The thought of returning to his previous existence, continuing to fight against this longing for her for the rest of his life, was insupportable! Greatly agitated, Darcy flung back the blankets and rolled out of the bed, his feet barely hitting the floor before he was striding back and forth across the room.

“There is a solution,” he told the darkness. “Make her your wife!” Where before the answer had always been that such a thing was unthinkable, it was no longer so. “Why not!” he demanded aloud of the night. He knew how it would be. Had he not seen her by his side a thousand times as he walked Pemberley? She belonged there, her hand in his. He fell silent, letting the possibilities of a life with her thrill through him. They took his breath away. Make her mistress of Pemberley, sister to your sister, mother of your children, his heart pled with him. He stopped his pacing and sat down heavily upon the bed. Could he trust her with so much and his heart as well?

Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. The opening line of the Bard’s sonnet recalled itself to him. “Impediments,” he repeated, lying back again into the pillows. Enormous difficulties existed. Though his heart might desperately wish otherwise, his mind forced him to admit to them. He thought of Bingley. How he had worked to dissuade him from a connection with the very family that would become his! Then there was the degradation of his family, the diminishing of its honor, which he was sworn to uphold. He would be properly censured by his relations and, in particular, his mother’s sister, Lady Catherine. Would they ever accept Elizabeth, or would she and Darcy both be cut off, their marriage and children forever strangers to their heritage? Finally, there was the reality of the indignities he had suffered at the hands of Elizabeth’s family and the pervasive want of propriety they had so readily exhibited at Netherfield’s ball as, one by one, they had exposed themselves to the contempt of their neighbors. Their behavior would attach to him, make him what he most feared, an object of derision by all of his society. The memory of the rest of that night assailed him, of Elizabeth’s shamed eyes rising from the study of her gloves, sending a flush of heat through his chest. Dear God, he loved her! How he had wanted to protect her, comfort her, even then! The Bard’s plea became a demand. Let me not…He wanted her at Pemberley. He wanted to revel in her warmth and liveliness, her heart and her mind. He wanted Georgiana’s wish to know her to come wonderfully true. He wanted the sweetness that only life with her could give. He loved her. But, was it enough? The emotions warred to and fro in his chest, duty and desire —

A yawn suddenly overtook him. Darcy glanced at the mantel clock, his eyelids suddenly heavy. It was well past two, and despite the urgency of his heart, it was neither possible nor wise to make a decision tonight or even, he admitted, tomorrow. He lay again in the bed, grasped a pillow, and turning on his side, forced the mattress into a more submissive shape. There was time — he could easily prolong his visit — and he would use it to full advantage to observe her more closely, discover her mind on more specific issues, test the strength of his emotions against her reality. There was time. But he would decide, he vowed, before ever he left Rosings.


The doors of Rosings shut firmly behind him, Darcy grasped his favorite malacca by its gold griffin-head handle and, taking the steps two at a time, struck out in long strides across the park to the grove and the path that led to Hunsford. Despite his late-waged turmoil, he had awakened that morning curiously invigorated and eager for the day. Upon opening his eyes, he lay quite still, the memory of the confessions of the night rising to flow through him like a river of sweet, heady wine. Here and there, its currents swirled against the shores of his mind and emotions, bringing them exquisitely, wonderfully alive. Different — he felt so very different. How, exactly? Darcy felt his mouth curving into a smile at the utter predictability of his rational, logical self. What did it matter how? He felt so extraordinarily…alive!

The familiar sounds of Fletcher’s preparations in the adjoining dressing room gently distracted him into another line of thought. Soon his valet would be coming through to inform him that all was in readiness for his morning ablutions. Darcy turned his head, regarding the empty pillow beside him. Fletcher’s routine would certainly need to change when — No, he firmly took himself to task, he must not think of that now, for he could not allow such anticipation to color his thinking. First, he must put his hard-won decision into action, and to do that required that he take steps to be in Elizabeth’s company, not lie abed daydreaming. He must see Elizabeth! This morning! “And without Richard,” he firmly informed his heart. Flinging aside the bedclothes, he arose and opened the dressing room door, startling Fletcher with the information that he wished to begin the morning ritual immediately. Shaved and dressed in record time, he descended to a blessedly empty breakfast room, where he downed a cup of coffee between quick bites of coddled egg and toast. Now, finally, he was on his solitary way.

By Heaven, the day was glorious! Darcy slowed his pace as he entered the grove, the trees having taken him out of view of any chance observer at Rosings’s windows. He left Fletcher with the information that he was going out on a walk should anyone inquire, but his destination he kept to himself. Now, under cover of the grove, he could strike off in any direction without being seen. The morning sun slanted through the branches above his head, gilding the motes of dust that filtered down before him as if offering him a faerie road to his heart’s desire. Faeries, indeed! Darcy snorted at the foolish turn his thoughts had taken and shook his head, but the thought would not be banished, nor would the image that followed on its heels. Lady Sylvanie. He had once likened her to a faerie princess, and she had proved as dangerous. Her midnight tresses and stormy gray eyes invaded his reverie in the tempting guise to which he had so nearly succumbed in Norwycke’s gallery. He shook his head again, this time to clear it. No, no faerie lay at the end of this path but a wonderfully real woman in whose heart lay no such darkness as had possessed the other.